In Our Blood
by ForgetfulWolfie
Summary: The Blight is coming and Duncan needs recruits to fight against it, but not every recruit is happy with his/her conscription. Follow Amell, Cousland, Tabris, and Mahariel as they journey to defeat the Blight and struggle come to terms with the cards fate has dealt them. Multi-Warden story. May be rated M later. (I'll try to improve the summary later)
1. Chapter 1

** Hello! I thought I'd mention a couple things before you start reading. This is a Multi-Warden story. I skipped over the origin stories, but the characters will hint towards what happened. I will write the characters' origins but as separate stories. **

** Please enjoy the story!**

Chapter 1

Quinn tries to ignore the aching in his muscles as he slowly trails after Duncan. Two hands press against his sore back, pushing him forward.

"I know, I know," he groans. "But, I'm not use to all this endless walking." After Ander's escape attempt during the weekly outside exercises, the mages weren't allowed that privilege anymore, not that Quinn was an avid participant. He preferred the solitude of the library where he could expand his knowledge. But now, he semi-regrets the lack of stamina that the exercises would have surely improved. Even his companion, despite her declining health, could keep up with the Warden-Commander, while he quickly fell behind.

The pressure on his back disappears and his fellow recruit appears in front of him. The tainted elf glares at him, as she has every time they've interacted since the dalish camp, and points ahead of them at upward angle. He looks to where she is pointing and seeing the tips of towers over the tree line. Could it be?

"We are almost to Ostagar, Quinn. You can rest there," Duncan calls back to the two recruits. The short elf begins pushing the mage forward again, which Quinn allows with a huff. It doesn't take long for the elf to give up and walk past him. If it weren't for her paling complexion and heavy movements, he would question Duncan's diagnosis of the elf's condition. But, it appears that she is the stubborn type, if her refusal to talk since her conscription says anything.

Duncan begins speaking about the history of Ostagar and the strategic advantage it holds. Quinn zones out, focusing on making it to the place first, since he is already aware of Ostagar's importance and past. The mage quickly becomes aware of the growing distance between him and his traveling companions.

"Wait up…" Quinn grumbles. Duncan doesn't stop, but his elven companion does, her glare once again focused on the struggling mage. The three finally near the bridge leading into the camp, when the group is waylaid by a man in gold armor.

"Ho there, Duncan!" the blonde man calls out. Quinn notices a look of surprise on Duncan's face, but only for a moment. The dalish elf crosses her arms, glaring at the man and his guards.

"King Cailan? I didn't expect—"

"A royal welcome? I was beginning to think that you would miss all the fun!" the blonde interrupts, enthusiastically.

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan responds, calmly.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! Glorious!" The King's excitement confuses the former circle mage. Was he oblivious to the dangers? His dalish companion bears a look of disbelief as she stares at the man. "The other Wardens told me you've found more promising recruits. I take it this is they?"

"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty."

"No need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together, after all." King Cailan moves to stand in front of the recruits. Quinn notices his elven companion stepping back, away from the blonde man. "Ho there, friends! Might I know your names?"

Quinn is slightly shocked at first, due to the ruler's informal greeting, but quickly regains himself.

"I highly doubt it, but anything is possible," the mage jests. The king laughs.

"You've got yourself a lively one, Duncan. And here I was beginning to think the Wardens were all stodgy priests!" King Cailan pauses for a moment, examining Quinn. "I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi." Quinn cringes slightly.

"And here I thought I was a servant of the Maker. These aren't Chantry robes?" he attempts to hide his reaction with humor. The king chuckles.

"Afraid not. Anyways, I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?"

"I'm no healer, but I can send a fireball or two the darkspawns' way."

"That'd be greatly appreciated," King Cailan replies with a laugh. "I have yet to learn your name."

"Quinn Amell."

"Amell? I've heard that name before. Nobility, maybe?"

"It's not all that great anymore. I wouldn't concern yourself over remembering such a thing," Quinn comments with a shrug, silently wishing for the king to drop the subject… Which he thankfully does, shifting his gaze to the elven recruit behind the mage.

"And you are?"

She responds with a hostile glare, while backing away a little more.

"She is Sylvia Mahariel," Duncan intervenes. The elf shots her glare at the Warden-Commander.

"You are Dalish, are you not? I hear your people possess remarkable skill and honor," King Cailan tries speaking to her again. All she does is continue to glare at him, while occasionally shooting it in Duncan's direction.

"I apologize, your Majesty. She isn't in the best condition and is probably tired from the journey," the elder warden speaks once again on the elf's behalf.

"Of course. Anyway, I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me to with his strategies," the blonde man laments.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week," Duncan informs the king.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

"You sound very confident of that," Quinn states, uneasily. The King's nonchalant attitude towards the dangers the repulsive creatures pose troubles the mage. Normally, it would inspire the troops that the leader is at such ease, but after facing the darkspawn in the Brecillian Forest and seeing what can happen, the king's attitude isn't reassuring. It sounds as if King Cailan is more interested in glory than safety or preparation. With a glance at Sylvia, Quinn feels that her thoughts are similar to his.

"Overconfident, some would say. Right, Duncan?" he answers with a chuckle. The mage glances at the Warden-Commander and sees a hint of uncertainty on the older man's face.

"Your Majesty, I am not certain that the Blight can be ended quite as… quickly as you might wish," Duncan states.

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an archdemon."

Quinn frowns. Isn't that suppose to be a good thing? The king makes it sound like an archdemon would be a welcomed sight.

"Disappointed, Your Majesty?" Duncan questions.

"I'd hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god! But I suppose this will have to do."

The mage bites his tongue. It seems his elven companion is having a problem trying to do the same thing, but manages to keep her silence. Quinn can't help but feel the king will die an early death with his glory-seeking behavior. Is he unaware of the sacrifices and time it took to defeat the last four archdemons? There are far more to the tales than glory.

"I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!" King Cailan departs, his guards following him back to the main camp. Quinn is unsure of his first impression of the king. The man seems a kind and honest sort, but a bit of a fool with his obsession with glory. Duncan turns to face the two recruits.

"What the King said is true. They have won several battles against the darkspawn here," the warden admits.

"Yet you don't sound very reassured," Quinn notices. Duncan gestures for the two to follow as he starts to walk towards the bridge. Great. More walking.

"Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling," the seasoned man explains.

"Why not? He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly," the former apprentice mentions. Too highly, it seems. Not that the Grey Wardens don't deserve it, but…the king could use a more realistic outlook. Duncan comes to a stop.

"Yet not enough to wait for reinforcements from the Grey Wardens of Orlais. He believes our legend alone makes him invulnerable." Duncan lets out a sigh. "Our numbers in Fereldan are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference."

"How do you know? That there is an archdemon?" Quinn asks.

"Once you complete the Joining, you will know," he answers, vaguely.

"Joining?"

"It is what will make you a Warden and cure Sylvia of her illness."

Quinn glances at the elf, who glares back at him for a moment and turns back to Duncan.

"Is it like the Harrowing?" Quinn questions, an uneasiness overwhelming him as he recalls the trial he recently overcame. Duncan gives the mage a sympathetic look.

"I apologize for forcing you to undergo yet another difficult trial so soon after your Harrowing, but it must be done. Every recruit must go through this secret ritual in order to become a Grey Warden." He glances at Sylvia. "And this ritual will cure you of the taint."

She doesn't acknowledge the man; instead she stares out across the bridge with a frown.

"If you're not careful, your face will freeze like that," Quinn warns, teasingly, remembering how Irving used to always tell him that when he was small. The elf responds with a swift kick to his shin. "Owww! Maker's breath!"

"The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon," Duncan continues, ignoring the recruits' antics. Quinn rubs his shin and returns his attention to Duncan. The mage is perturbed by the talk of the secret ritual. Does everything require a secret, foreboding ritual? Or does he just have terrible luck?

"Are we your only recruits?" Quinn wonders.

"No, there are four other recruits here already. They have been waiting for us to arrive," the warden clarifies.

"Then, what did you need us to do?"

"Feel free to explore the camp here as you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave it for the time being," he pauses before adding while looking at Sylvia, "I recommend you two remain together. With your tainted condition, I prefer you be with Quinn if anything happens."

She makes a huffing sound, but doesn't say anything.

"I don't think she is fond of the idea of having a babysitter," Quinn notes.

"I prefer to be on the safe side," Duncan assures. "There is a Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits. Until then, I have business I must attend to. You may find me at the Grey Warden tent on the other side of this bridge, should you need to."

The Warden-Commander leaves the two recruits. Quinn turns to Sylvia, who stands with her arms crossed looking back at him, her glare not as sharp as before. He, then, glances around the area, seeing nothing of great interest.

"Guess we ought to cross the bridge to find anything good, huh?"

She doesn't say a word. She just walks past him. He lets out a really long sigh and slumps his shoulders. The mage quickly takes off after her, hoping to convince her to rest in the camp for a moment.

* * *

Cedric silently cleans his armor, content to shut everything out. He hears someone settle next to him, catching slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He glances over, despite already being sure who it is. As he thought, the person is Serah, the elven Warden tasked with watching over him, ensuring he didn't make a run for it again.

"Need something?" he asks, gruffly. She holds up a bowl of stew in his field of vision. The warrior pauses his cleaning, debating whether to ignore her. Finally, he gently places his armor aside and takes the bowl from her slender hands. He pulls out the large chunk of bread sitting in the food and takes a bite out of it. Serah does the same with hers. The two sit in silence as they eat.

"Warden-Commander Duncan has returned with two more recruits," she informs him when they were halfway through their meal. Cedric stops eating, and stars down at his remaining stew.

"Good for him…" he grunts, bitterly. He hears the Warden sigh.

"We can now move on to preparing for the Joining. You'll have a long day tomorrow, so be ready," she says. He shrugs and returns to eating the last of his meal. He glances over at his equipment, his eyes lingering on the laurel crest proudly displayed on the scarred family shield.

"By chance, might you know where the other recruits are?" Serah inquires. Cedric tears his eyes away from the shield and faces the elven warden. Her teal eyes stare right back, unfaltering, under his intense gaze.

"No," he answers, bluntly. "I wasn't assigned to babysit them."

"You're so helpful…"

"They're your recruits, not mine."

Cedric notices that Serah's hair is undone, which is surprising. He reaches up and tugs gently on her dark blonde locks. She gives him a puzzled look.

"You're hair isn't braided," he states. The warrior sees the realization flash in her eyes.

"I have been too busy with the arrival of Duncan and the new recruits, as well as plans for the coming battle, to be able to tend to it," she explains.

"Do you have a ribbon? I can do it."

She stares at the young man for a couple moments. Trying to tell if he is serious, Cedric assumes. Then, she nods quickly and reaches into a pouch.

"Here," she mumbles as she hands him the ribbon and shifts around for him to have better access to her hair. Cedric sets to work on braiding the silk-like, golden locks. "You know how to braid?"

"Obviously." Memories of him sitting with his mother, helping to brush and braid her hair flash in his mind. The young man clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. His chest aches and his eyes sting as his thoughts accidently drift to his family. He needs to be strong. Fereldan needs him, and when the darkspawn threat is gone, he has revenge he must take. Til then, he must focus on the task at hand, and let his rage seethe.

"I'm just surprised. Your hair is so short, so I didn't think you would know."

Cedric doesn't respond to her. He attempts to block out the memories trying to overwhelm his thoughts by focusing on the trivial task. His fingers interweave her hair with care and ease. She hums, appearing comfortable with the broody warrior being so close, despite the violent mood swings he has exhibited sine they met. As much as Cedric wants to deny it, he has formed a sort of bond with the warden before him. He wants to hate her as he does Duncan and the others, but he can't. Her honesty, patience, and kindness towards him are too endearing.

The young man reaches the end of the elf's hair, and finishes off the braid by tying the thin, black ribbon in a neat bow. He pulls away and Serah turns around, her hand shooting up to ruffle his deepest brown hair. Cedric gently bats the hand away and leans out of her reach.

"See? You can be a good boy," she teases. He responds with an indignant huff. She lets out a quick laugh and gets to her feet. "By the way, your stubble is becoming more pronounced. You should shave. At least a little."

Before he can reply, she walks off, giving him a quick wave. Cedric grabs the empty bowl she left and stacks it on his. The dishes are set aside and the warrior returns to maintaining his equipment. He does the task with great care, making sure everything is near perfection. When he gets to his family sword, he just sits and stares at the laurel crest on the pommel.

This is the sword of his ancestors. The battles it has seen and fought… Cedric can't help but feel unworthy of wielding it, but he can't set it aside. This sword has fought for Fereldan since the days of King Calenhad. It would be wrong to deny it the chance now just because he feels undeserving. With this sword, he will fight for Fereldan. With this sword, he will avenge his family and home. Be damned what Cailan or Duncan says. Vengeance will be his.

Cedric attends to the sword. When he finally finishes the task, he wraps up his shield and stashes away his armor in the Grey Warden tent, but the sword he places on his belt. As he stands, he brushes off his heavy linen shirt and leather pants and grabs the empty bowls. As he sets out to return the dishes, a fawn-colored mabari runs up to his side. Cedric glances down at the hound.

"If you're not careful, someone might throw you in the kennels," he warns with a smirk.

The mabari, Sirius, responds with an argumentative bark.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say… So, where have you been, anyways? Probably begging for food, right?"

Sirius makes a small whining noise, ducking his head, but the young man notices that the mabari's tail is still wagging.

"No food? Hmmm… Ah!" Cedric looks down at his hound with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You were following Serah, weren't you?"

Sirius begins making a series of defensive huffs and barks. Cedric rolls his eyes at the mabari's antics. He hadn't been the only one to bond with the elven Warden. Sirius has taken to the woman as well, which to the warrior, spoke volumes about her character. A mabari's trust and loyalty isn't given lightly, and when it is given, one can never find a better companion.

The hound runs off, presumably to hunt down Serah, and Cedric continues on to the servants' tents. An elven servant sees him near and rushes over to take the bowls from him. She gives a quick bow, which he returns, and hurries off. He crosses his arms and debates what to do now. He is tempted to visit his uncle, but the Grey Wardens have made it explicitly clear that they don't want the recruits going into the main camp at this time. He recalls the ruckus he made when he attempted to see his uncle the first time. He succeeded in getting what he wanted, but Serah gave him quite the earful afterwards. The temptation isn't enough for him to get on her bad side again.

So, Cedric wanders over to the kennels, hoping to find something to preoccupy him there. As he gets close, he spots the kennelmaster and a soldier attempting to muzzle a mabari. The grey hound growls and snaps at the men. Watching the animal's movements, Cedric can tell the poor creature is in terrible pain. He steps in to help, but it is to no avail.

"If we can't muzzle him, we won't be able to help. It's a shame. He's a good mabari," the kennelmaster laments.

"What about his master?" Cedric asks.

"Died in the last battle."

Cedric scratches the back of his head and leans on the fence, looking at the hurt mabari. The hound is lying down now, his sides heaving painfully. Anytime someone tries to near him, he growls, displaying his sharp canines. The warrior lets out a sigh. Surely there's someone that can help the mabari.

"What's the matter with him?"

Upon hearing an unfamiliar voice, Cedric looks over his shoulder. He spots a young man, his hair blacker than a starless night and eyes bluer than the Waking Sea. Along with is well-kept hair and upright posture, the young man sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the soldiers. Then, the warrior recognizes the outfit the young man is wearing. Robes from the Circle of Magi.

Then he notices a stranger sight. Behind the mage is a small female elf with intricate tattoos on her face. It appears that she is using her mage companion as a means to hide or shield herself for the attentions of other. With the unusual tattoos and unfamiliar workmanship of her bow and armor, Cedric assumes she is of the Dalish.

A mage outside the templars' watchful eyes and a Dalish elf… Are these Duncan's two new recruits? It's the only reasonable assumption. He wonders how well the two will take to Alistair. Cedric returns his attention to the mabari, leaving the talking to the kennelmaster.

When the two finish talking, the mage appears beside the warrior holding a muzzle in his hands. His azure eyes stare at the hurting hound, looking as if he is having a silent debate with himself. When the mage steps into the kennel, the mabari gets to his feet and stares him. As the mage and grey hound silently gaze at on another, Cedric notices the understanding and trust in the mabari's eyes. He's imprinted on the unknowing mage.

"I'm here to help…" the warrior hears the young man mutter to the hound. A flash of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Cedric glances over, and sees the dalish elf next to him. Her brow is furrowed as her forest green eyes focus on the mage. The warrior can feel the distrust radiating from her. From what he's heard though, the Dalish tend to be victims of a mabari's bite rather than imprinting.

The grey mabari whines, but the mage manages to get the muzzle on the hound with little trouble. He pets the poor creature a couple times before exiting the kennel.

"A mabari never forgets those who help them," Cedric announces. The mage and the elf turn their attention to him. He ignores the elf's glare.

"Really? It'd be pretty amazing if he imprinted on me," the mage admits, happily. The warrior notices a slight accent in the mage's voice, reminiscent of the Free Marches.

"Seems likely," Cedric states, offhandedly. He pushes himself off the fence and starts helping with the other mabaris, leaving the two strangers. For all the chantry says about mages, the mabari put his trust in that one.

Cedric focuses on his task, content to shut everything else out.

**So, you got introduced to Amell and Cousland and a glimpse of Mahariel. You'll get more of a feel for her in the next chapter as well as meeting Tabris. The first two chapters are dedicated to introducing the characters since I didn't do their origins before.**

** Anyways, this is my first lengthy fanfiction. Any constructive criticism or comments would be helpful. I seek to improve my writing skills. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry about the wait. I was hoping to have the chapter out earlier, but work preoccupies quite a bit of my time. I was also working on drawing the concepts for my characters. I intend to put them up on deviantart soon, but they still require some work first. Also, thank you for the feedback. I really appreciate it. Anyways, enjoy!**

Chapter 2

Sylvia relaxes slightly as she follows Quinn away from the kennels. Those mabari make her more than uncomfortable. She had seen the wounds those beasts had inflicted on her clanmates. One clanmate had even been mauled to death. The dalish elf shivers at the memory of the mutilated corpse.

She is also unsure of the tall man who had been watching Quinn muzzling the mabari. He seemed like most shemlen, but something was off. When she had looked into his vivid green eyes, she saw a cold, seething rage swirling in them. She knows that look. She had seen it in the eyes of her clanmates when they lost someone to bandits or shemlen. It is a desire for vengeance, and the man seems to be consumed by it. He's an explosion waiting to happen. It makes her weary.

So, the two return to exploring the camp. Sylvia keeps to Quinn's shadow, for the most part, refraining from attracting attention. She can't help but notice that it is getting increasingly harder to move around. Her body feels heavy and the amount of effort she has to exert in order to appear normal is exhausting. But the worst thing is the haziness in her mind, like a darkness slowly overwhelming her thoughts.

She barely listens to the mage prattle on about the camp. Despite his excitement, she isn't interested in these shemlens' things or the shemlen. Sylvia notices the looks that some of the shemlen men send her way, like a staving predator eyeing its prey. It's repulsive. For some, a simple glare scares them off, but others seem to like being challenged.

After some time, she thinks Quinn notices because he starts to flair some of his magic, making the pig-like shem shrink back. The dalish elf can only imagine the amount of trouble that he is inviting by doing so. Keeper Marethari had told her their Chantry claimed magic is a sin. That the shemlen were afraid of magic and acted violently towards it, locking up their mages in glorified prisons. This was one of the reasons those bastards killed her father. Sylvia lets out a sigh. Shem are such narrow-minded fools.

"Quinn Amell!"

The mage jumps and the elf turns her head, looking for the person who called out to her companion. She spots an elderly woman walking towards them, a confused yet scolding expression on her face. She is wearing robes and carrying a staff similar to Quinn's. Then, Sylvia glances at Quinn. This woman seems to make him uneasy.

"Hello, Wynne… Fancy meeting you here," he replies, nervously. The elderly mage stops in front of him and quickly looks over him.

"I'm suppose to be here. You, on the other hand…." Wynne trails off, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm suppose to be here, too," Quinn responds with a childish huff.

"You may no longer be an apprentice, now," she gestures to his robes and staff. Is that a symbol of his status? "But, I highly doubt Greagoir allowed you to come. Especially with your rebellious behavior."

Sylvia frowns. Rebellious behavior? This mage fits the role of jester rather than a rebel. And, he's been relatively compliant to that damned warden shemlen.

"Things… happened." Upon hearing the sorrowful tone Quinn has taken, the elf looks up at him. His expression is hesitant and regretful, somehow. She notices a hint of defiance in his eyes that she was unaware of before and his presence feels different. More guarded and alert. Is this the supposed rebel? "I'm a Warden recruit, now."

"What?" The elderly mage is clearly caught off guard.

He turns his gaze to Sylvia and gives her an apologetic look.

"If you do not mind… I need a moment of privacy with Senior Enchanter Wynne."

She huffs, but walks away, sticking to the shadows. She attempts to eavesdrop on the conversation, confused about Quinn's sudden change in character, but her ability to hear is muffled. Even her vision is slowly becoming more blurry. Another effect of the taint? The elf can only catch a couple words.

"…Things?"

"Undoubtly… disappr..."

"Why… not su…" Wynne sounds exasperated. "What… time?"

"I… accusation… imply… Think not know… I'd… you not... Definitely do wit… lecture…" The conscripted mage sounds as if he is trying to discourage the elder one's insistence.

"Out… youn..."

"Okay… Going… nquil… accus… cticing bloo… didn't…. Templars… frien... I decided... Phylactery ch… repository… his ph..."

"What!? …hinking!?"

"…..Templars… Ashera… Turn Jow….. wain is… out… basement… Irving…. iting. Greago… Aeon… Jowan… powerful blood magi… fled… ander Duncan … conscript..." Quinn's tone is becoming increasingly irritated. He gestures wildly, but Sylvia can't make them out. It's just a blur to her.

"Yo….ruin…..life….How….So…poten….sted…"

"….ential? … trap….Circ…rison!"

The elf finally gives up on listening. Despite his apparent agitation, the mage seems to refuse to raise his voice. Instead, he seems intent on growling his words, making Sylvia think of a wounded, trapped dog ready to bite.

Sylvia leans against the tree she is using to hide. Her head is starting to ache and her body is feeling heavier. Her eyes slowly begin to close when she detects nearing footsteps. She hears the rustling of cloth with absolute clarity and the heaviness in her limbs dissipates slightly.

"Sylvia? Are you okay?"

She whips around and is instantly met by a pair of blue eyes. Quinn's unnaturally blue eyes that almost seem to glow at times, like now. The dalish elf is immediately aware of the mage's close proximity and shoves him away.

"Ah, sorry. You looked more flushed than before. I just wanted to be sure you were okay," he explains as he lightly taps the end of his staff against her head. Her headache eases a little. "I'm not very adept in creation magic, but I know the basics. Hopefully it can help you hold on til the Joining."

Sylvia crosses her arms and glares at Quinn. The last thing she wants is to appear or feel dependent on the mage's magic and she still doesn't trust him. He lets out a sigh, which she ignores. She looks over toward the elder mage, who seems upset, and points at her. Quinn looks at where the elf is pointing. Sylvia simply looks at him, waiting for him to say something about the discussion he just had with the elderly woman. Quinn attempts to avoid eye contact, but eventually relents. Sort of.

"She's disappointed in some choices I made…That's all," he mumbles, his brow furrowing as his countenance displays slight anger. The dark cloud that hangs over him disappears as quickly as it came, and his expression turns to a friendly, neutral one. "It's starting to get late. I think we should start looking for that warden Duncan told us to find. Alistair."

Sylvia nods, hesitantly, unsure of the mage's quick change in demeanor. While she couldn't hear the words properly, she knows his conversation with the other mage had turned out badly. Still, she didn't expect him to act like this. Maybe a joke or something, but not brooding. But then again, she really doesn't know this mage. His friendly behavior can be surprisingly deceptive. She was nearly fooled.

The two walk around camp, searching for this "Alistair" fellow. It only takes a moment for Sylvia to realize that the shem, Duncan, told them nothing about this man they are suppose to find other than his name and that he is a warden. But, Quinn insists on finding this Alistair without help even though Sylvia can tell the mage is tiring.

"Maker's breath! Is he invisible? Can Wardens do that now?" Quinn questions.

The elf rolls her eyes at his absurdity.

"I know, right? You'd think if a Warden could turn invisible, a mage could do it hands down."

Sylvia shoots a glare at him. That's obviously not what she was thinking. Then, by chance, she spots two men in Grey Warden regalia a short ways away. She smacks the rambling mage in the chest and points to the men, hoping the mage will seek their help. Quinn stares at the Grey Wardens for a moment and returns his gaze to the elf.

"How do you know they aren't imposters?"

Sylvia delivers a swift kick to the mage's shin. He lets out a loud curse.

"Alright, alright. Sheesh. Must you kick me?"

The dalish elf shakes her head and pushes the mage towards the two Wardens.

"Hello, Grey Wardens!" Quinn greets, enthusiastically. The men turn to look at the two recruits. One seems almost abnormally tall with a thick, long beard covering most of his face and smells of alcohol while the other, shorter one appears foreign. "Might one of you be Alistair, or know him? Duncan wasn't very descriptive."

"You must be the other recruits, huh?" the taller one replies with a snort.

"Does that mean you're Alistair?" Quinn asks. The thickly bearded Warden lets out a laugh.

"Nope. Name's Gregor. And this is Dominic," he points to the shorter warden. Dominic bows his head. "Last I heard, Alistair was in the temple ruins just over there." Gregor points to the ruins behind the mage's camp.

"Oh? So, Wardens can't turn invisible?" Quinn sounds disappointed. Gregor and Dominic give the mage strange looks. "Thanks, anyways!"

Quinn once again takes the lead as the two set off to the temple ruins. Having nothing better to do than glare at people, Sylvia glowers at the mage's back. She doesn't have anything against him, personally. He's just a shemlen who happened to be with Duncan when he conscripted her. Creators, Quinn is the only shem she can stand in the slightest, though his constant joking gets irritating. He's childish, but not. Odd.

Just as they start up a small ramp, the elf hears shouting.

"What is it, now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

"That sounds like Lamont," Quinn notes, absently, causing Sylvia to look at him in confusion. Wasn't he imprisoned in a tower? How does he know people here? The mage notices the elf looking at him and elaborates a little. "He's an Enchanter at the Circle who was sent here with a number of other mages to help the army." He looks like he wants to say more, but closes his mouth. They stop at the top of the ramp, watching the two men bicker.

"I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, Ser mage. She desires your presence," the blonde soldier states.

"For Andraste's— Is he serious?" Quinn growls, his expression turning irritated. The mage—Lamont?—and the soldier continue to bicker and Sylvia notices Quinn's grip tightening on his staff. "Lamont's an ass, but this is pure provocation, whether the revered mother intended this or not. She probably did, the self-righteous hypocrite."

Despite his relatively neutral tone, Sylvia takes a step away from the mage and glares at him. This temper flair is far more unnerving than the one he displayed earlier. And once again, he seems to catch on to her wariness.

"Sorry," he apologizes. The mage appears to make an effort to calm himself and soften his features.

"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must," the enchanter relents, angrily. As he begins stomping towards the recruits, he glares at Quinn. "I don't know what you are doing here, but step aside."

"Oh yes. Of course. Because I respond so well to assholes," Quinn retorts sarcastically with ease, as if it's a habit. Didn't he just get mad at the blonde solider for provoking the man? Enchanter Lamont rolls his eyes.

"Maker forbid your mind be as sharp as your tongue," the older mage grunts before walking around Quinn. Sylvia watches the man walk away and wonders why none of the circle mages seem to get along. They're all imprisoned mages, right?

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Sylvia turns her attention to the blonde soldier who is now speaking to them.

"Along with a little unwarranted instigation as well, right?" Quinn shoots back. The soldier colors slightly.

"It's complicated… Well, not complicated, just…." The blonde pauses and looks over the recruits. The elf glares at him and resumes using the mage as a shield of sorts. "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?"

"If I am? Would that just ruin your day?"

"No. I just like knowing my chances of being turned into a toad."

Quinn rolls his eyes.

"If mages could do that, they wouldn't be held in a damn tower," Quinn responds, dryly. The blonde soldier seems to consider this. Then, the man's hazel eyes light up.

"Oh, oh! You're one of Duncan's new recruits! From the Circle of Magi, right? And the one next to you, is the Dalish recruit?"

Sylvia glares at the soldier, but notices her mage companion glance back at her. This blonde man isn't a soldier. He's a Grey Warden.

"That's us. Are you Alistair?"

"That's me! Uhh…" Alistair scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry about that. You know, earlier, with the mage. Not one of my finer moments."

"Why would a Grey Warden play errand boy for the revered mother?"

For a moment, the young Warden appears ashamed.

"Before Duncan recruited me, I was training to be a Templar, sooo… I think the reverend mother meant it as an insult by sending me as the messenger, and I'm sure the mage picked up on that, immediately. "

Quinn tenses. Sylvia feels an uneasiness creep up her spine. Her clan had encountered Templars before. It hadn't been a direct encounter, luckily, and the clan quickly moved after spotting the religious knights. The rumors the clans heard about what Templars did had been more than enough reason not to remain. And attacking them would have caused far more problems than killing a normal shem. Templars are bad news.

"You're a Templar?" Quinn asks, hesitantly.

"No!" Alistair shakes his head, strongly. "I'm a Grey Warden. Besides, Duncan conscripted me before I took my vows. Thank the Maker. I'd have made a terrible Templar, with all that religious devotion and lack of cheese. Seriously, the lack of cheese in the Chantry should be a sin."

"I thought lyrium was cheese for Templars." Quinn seems to relax, returning to his jesting once more. Sylvia finds his fickle personality somewhat disorienting. Shem are so weird.

"That'd explain why the sandwiches always tasted bad." Alistair makes a face and Quinn chuckles a little. "Anyways… Back on topic. I'm Alistair—"

"Obviously."

"—and, as the junior member of the order, I will be accompanying you when you prepare for the joining."

"Oh? That's… somewhat disappointing."

"Haha. I thought the same thing when I prepared for mine, but it's for the best. Believe me. Have you ever fought a darkspawn before?"

Sylvia recalls the repulsive creatures she saw in the Brecilian Forest. Suddenly, everything turns black and her legs go weak. The elf quickly reaches out, grabbing at the mage's back, and tightly grips his robe to keep her upright. A heaviness washes over her, making her attempts to stay standing useless. A strange, alluring noise echoes in her mind as if calling out to her.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?"

Eodyn cringes and looks back at the elven warden who caught him. He attempts to stash away his loot in his pouches without her knowing, but realizes he no longer has it. Serah had snatched the coin purse out of his hand before he even tried to hide it.

"Don't move. You and I will have words," she commands before running over to the noble Eodyn had just stolen from with a mabari following right behind her. "Pardon me, sir. I believe you dropped this." The noble whips around, facing the elven warden, and eyes her with suspicion. He snatches the coin purse from her hand.

"I bet you stole it, didn't you, knife-ear?" The noble accuses, pointing his finger right in her face.

"If I stole it, I wouldn't be returning it. And it's Warden. Not knife-ear," Serah retorts, calmly. The mabari growls at the man. She turns on her heel and returns to the elven recruit, her arms crossed over her chest. "You can't steal from the people here. The Grey Wardens are still regarded with suspicion since our return to Ferelden. If one of our recruits is caught stealing from noble…"

"I'm sorry," Eodyn apologizes. Serah rolls her eyes, but smirks.

"Just don't do it again," she warns as she places something in his palm. She winks and he looks at the item. It's a sovereign. She holds up two more. Here she is scolding him and she does the same thing, just on a smaller scale. "We'll consider this his donation to the Grey Wardens."

"How did you…? When did you…?"

"It's a secret~. I'll consider teaching you after the Joining."

"Oh? So we're finally going through with it?" Eodyn questions, growing impatient. It isn't really impatience. It is more like the elf is growing bored with the camp. Cedric practically ignores him, and the other wardens are busy during the day.

"Duncan has returned with two more recruits, so tomorrow, you will be beginning your Joining…" There is a pause before she adds, "That means no drinking with Gregor tonight."

Eodyn huffs, and then, sarcastically, mentions, "I bet Cedric is enthusiastic about this."

"I've already spoken to him. He bears no love for the Grey Wardens, but he is devoted to his country. With the Blight coming… that's all he needs."

"He's a self-righteous noble with a short fuse. How can you put that much faith in him?"

The mabari lets out an argumentative growl, taking offense from Eodyn's statement. Right, because this mabari is Cedric's. What's it name again? Serious? Serah pats the beast's head, calming it.

"… He's grieving in the only way he feels he can. I know he has a good heart." Serah runs her fingers over her braid. "He needs time and space. So, be good to him and watch his back. He'll return the favor."

Eodyn halts and watches as the elven warden continues walking. How can she defend a noble, one of the people who put the elves down and treat his people like wasted space? He feels anger building inside of himself, but quickly calms. An angry thief is a reckless thief. Besides, the Couslands were known amongst the alienages as fair and kind. Cedric just seems to be a awful representative of his family.

The elven recruit runs after Serah, quickly catching up to her.

"What… is the Joining, exactly?" Eodyn asks.

"It's your initiation. I can't tell you much more than that. Duncan will tell you more when the recruits are gathered together tonight," she answers, neutrally.

"Daveth mentioned something about going into the Kocari Wilds," he comments. Serah's disinterested expression turns into a scowl.

"Eavesdropping, huh? Ellen thought he might have been snooping."

"Was he wrong?"

"…No. You and the other recruits will be sent into the Wilds to begin the preparation of your Joining," Serah relents, knowing Eodyn would persist in his questioning. Once he has at least something, he refuses to yield.

"By ourselves?"

"No. Alistair will be accompanying you."

"Just Alistair?" Eodyn doesn't mind the junior Warden. If anything, Alistair's odd sense of humor and goofy disposition made him a decent human in the elf's eyes. But, the former Templar doesn't seem to fit the role of guide, or leader, or any other serious position, let alone be able to deal with the temperamental noble called Cedric.

"It's tradition for the junior Warden to do so. Besides, Alistair is a capable fighter. You needn't worry," Serah assures the recruit.

"That's not really my concern. I mean, what about Cedric? He's not very easy to get along with, and I doubt he'll listen to Alistair. Also, what if he tries to make a run for it again?" Eodyn explains.

The mabari lets out a huff of disagreement.

Serah slows to a stop. She stares off into the distance and seems to be thinking about Eodyn's words. After a couple moments, she lets out a long sigh.

"I doubt that he'll run. Not now, with Ferelden in danger from the coming Blight…. But, I will talk with Duncan."

The two elves return to the Grey Warden camp and Serah departs once more to attend to other matters with Cedric's mabari on her heels. Eodyn spots Cedric returning to the campsite as well, looking as broody as usual. The noble walks past, ignoring the elf as he passes. Eodyn can't help but glare at the young man. What made Duncan want to recruit the sullen noble? Is he even any good in a fight? Glorified tournaments and true combat are two different things. Does he know what it feels like to have to fight for his life? To have others truly depend on him?

Eodyn calms himself, knowing that getting angry at Cedric won't change anything. Life is unfair, and it will always be that way. It's a lesson he had learned when he was young. A lesson that he has never stopped learning.

The recruit watches as Wardens come and go, preparing for the coming battle against the darkspawn. He had listened in on one of the meetings held by the senior soldiers about the creatures. That was the first time he had seen one. Granted it was dead, but the genlock was still vile looking. He can only imagine what the horde looks like.

Quickly growing bored, Eodyn begins tending to his daggers, taking special care of the one he inherited from his mother. It only takes a couple moments of his time, though, because he had already cleaned and sharpened the daggers in the morning. Once again, he is left with nothing to do.

The elf finally takes to wandering again, keeping an eye out for Gregor. After all, a couple drinks won't hurt.

"Getting' antsy, eh?"

Eodyn glances over at the seedy man. Despite his sleazy appearance, Daveth is actually not a bad man. He may not be an elf but Eodyn knows he and Daveth share similar experiences. It makes him one of the few shem he can stand to be around.

"There's nothing to do," the elf complains.

"You just need to think outside the box. There's hidden potential everywhere," the man responds with a laugh.

"Trying to sleep with every woman in camp doesn't count as 'hidden potential.' And I've already been scolded for my sleight of hand by Serah."

"I'd like to be scolded by her." Daveth moves his eyebrows up and down repeatedly.

"Please, don't say that. Or do that." Eodyn cringes a little and the human thief laughs.

"Live a little."

Eodyn shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"I have some information, if you're interested, by the way. I just need a little something in return," Eodyn hints. Daveth leans in, obviously intent.

"What's your price?" the man replies.

"5 silver… And an oath to secrecy. At least, until tonight."

"2 silver and 50 copper. And my oath of secrecy."

"No. 4 silver and your oath. Take it or leave it," Eodyn returns.

"Fine, fine…" Daveth gives in and slips the coin into the elf's palm. "I swear on my thieving hand to keep this information a secret…. Now, what is it?"

Eodyn scowls at his fellow thief, but begins, "We're being sent into the Wilds tomorrow to prepare for our joining. Alistair will be accompanying us, as well as two more recruits that the Warden-Commander brought back with him. Duncan is suppose to tell us more tonight when we all gather together."

"I knew it. Anything else?"

"No. Serah wasn't very keen on giving me that much."

"Serah just told you that? Seriously?"

"Well, I mentioned that you snooped around and told me about the Wilds," Eodyn admits, guiltily.

"Hey!" Daveth protests. "You sold me out!"

"Not really. Besides, she told me a little more because of it, right? And, didn't you just say you'd like her to scold you? Well, here's your chance. Maybe," Eodyn counters.

"Gee, thanks," Daveth mutters. "Two more recruits, huh? I wonder if we've got us a beauty or two." Well, he recovered quickly, didn't he? Eodyn shrugs.

"If there is, I doubt she'll like you lecherous gaze on her."

"You never know. 'Hidden potential,' remember?...Eh, we probably ought to return to the camp and wait for the others," Daveth states before walking off in the direction Eodyn just came from. The elven recruit's shoulders slump. At least, Daveth will provide decent company until Gregor or Duncan return to camp. Eodyn follows, a feeling of impatience coming over him once again.

**So, there are the other two wardens-to-be. Mahariel's was longer that I anticipated and it was still going to be longer, but I felt that was a better cutoff point. I had a harder time with Tabris' section. **

**By the way, this is a more character-driven fanfiction, so I'm going to focus more on the characters than action. There will be action, just not a lot. **

**If you see any errors, I apologize. I try to proofread beforehand, but mistakes happen. Constructive criticism is appreciated.**


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